


just let me liberate you

by becka



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anal Sex, Crossdressing, M/M, Oral Sex, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-22
Updated: 2013-07-22
Packaged: 2017-12-20 23:58:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/893421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/becka/pseuds/becka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis dares Zayn to dress as a girl for a day. Liam is more into it than he expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	just let me liberate you

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "Blurred Lines" because it's after one in the morning and I have no shame left. Thanks to [Lucy](http://archiveofourown.org/users/balefully/profile) for audiencing and to Zayn Malik for being a hotass girl.
> 
> Disclaimer: None of this happened.

Liam can’t stop looking at Zayn. He tries to keep it to the corner of his eye, quick glances like sips of air as you come up from swimming. And he does feel as though he’s underwater in between, nervous and dizzy and slow. Also like he might drown. They’re on the massive sofa in the back of the bus, crammed together like the old days, but in the old days, Zayn didn’t look like… that.

One of the other lads says something about the film they have on, and Zayn says something back, and everyone laughs, so Liam laughs too, and slaps a hand against Zayn’s knee. It should look casual, it must, just a little friendly gesture and not a desperate attempt to get a feel of Zayn’s silky stockings, Liam’s fingers spreading over the tight weave. He shouldn’t leave his hand there, to preserve the matey illusion, but he can’t help it. He loves the slickness of the fabric under his fingers, even the way he can feel the texture of Zayn’s leg hair underneath. Louis hadn’t made him shave his legs or armpits, as though that and that alone was too far to go for a dare. 

Liam lets his fingers move in distracted little circles, and Zayn’s thigh flexes beneath his palm. Liam’s heartbeat goes staccato with fear. He can’t explain why he’s so into this, and if Zayn notices, if Zayn _asks_ , he may actually die. But Zayn doesn’t say anything, so Liam doesn’t move his hand, lets it curve over the firm muscle above Zayn’s knee. His short skirt is rucked up enough to show the lace edges of his stockings, the suspenders holding them in place against his slim thighs, and Liam’s eyes fall there the next time Zayn moves. He looks away, but much too slowly, dragging his eyes back to the TV screen. They’re halfway through _The Avengers_ , and it’s good that it’s a movie Liam knows by heart because his mind is a blur of warm skin and the smell of Lou’s perfume (“an extra touch of realism,” she’d said as she’d sprayed it on).

About the time the Hulk is hurtling off the helicarrier, Liam can’t take it anymore and wriggles his way off the sofa to get snacks. “I want a beer!” Louis calls after him. “Since I’m the only one old enough for it.” Liam doesn’t turn when Louis squawks, “Oy, Niall, no tickling!”

He gets a couple of beers and several Cokes from the fridge, and he’s rummaging for sweets in the cupboard when Zayn says, “It’s not nice to objectify women, Liam.”

Liam fumbles the Cokes, his cheeks firing bright red as he turns to find Zayn behind him, close. Zayn’s skirt is soft and short and swingy, accentuating his non-existent hips and reminding Liam of the suspenders beneath, and his black top barely covers his belly and leaves most of the tattoos below his collarbone exposed above the swooping neckline. Although the chest piece they’d used in the video had been bigger, the soft curves of the stuffed bra are tantalising, and Liam is basically defining objectification right now, but he can’t stop.

“I’m sorry,” he stutters, not realising until afterwards that it’s an admission of guilt. He’s been staring at Zayn and not-staring at Zayn and wanting to touch him ever since they got him dressed this morning.

“I understand that puberty causes all sorts of confusing feelings for young boys, but you just have to remember that women are people too. With thoughts and feelings, not just tits.” It’s so strange to hear Zayn’s normal voice coming from that slick, red mouth, see Zayn’s mischievous smirk crinkling those darkly lined eyes.

“I didn’t mean to,” Liam says. “I’m not like that with real girls. You know I’m not.”

Zayn leans into him, standing so close and smelling so good that Liam’s breath catches. “Do I make you nervous, Liam?” he asks, licking his lips. “Do I make you question your assumptions? Wouldn’t mind mixing you up a bit, if I’m honest.”

“Can I kiss you?” Liam blurts out. He’s staring so hard at Zayn’s mouth that the entire world starts to go blurry at the edges.

Zayn tilts his head, nudges his chin up, and Liam bends his face down in answer, closes his eyes. “When we get to the hotel, I might let you do a lot more than that.”

Liam waits for a kiss, but when he opens eyes, Zayn’s walking towards the back of the bus, and Liam is tongue tied and hot all over.

*

When they get to the hotel, Zayn slips a hoodie on, disguising the wig and the tight top, trades the skirt for baggy jeans and trainers. Liam breathes a little easier seeing Zayn in boy clothes, but when he looks up from beneath the hood, his face is still the face of a beautiful girl who looks like Zayn.

Paul passes out room keys, and Zayn tips his little envelope so Liam can see the room number, letting him know that the offer is still open if he wants to take it. It only takes him a few minutes of frantic pacing to decide he does.

Zayn answers the door in his hoodie and jeans, the long fringe of the wig hanging in his eyes. His painted lips are practically magnetic, drawing Liam into the room until they’re pressed close together behind the closed door. “Hi,” says Liam, guiltily meeting Zayn’s eyes.

“Hi,” says Zayn. Then he steps back, fingers the zip on the hoodie. “You know I’m not really a girl, right?”

Liam splutters in distress. “Of course. I mean, obviously. We’re in a band together. We’re mates. I’ve seen your…” He gestures towards Zayn’s crotch.

“That’s not what I mean. It’s not my dick that makes me a boy. It’s not any part of my body.” He unzips the hoodie and lets it fall, revealing his bare shoulder, the arch of his collarbone, the curve of his fake breasts. “If I kiss you, you’re kissing a boy. Even a boy in lipstick. And if that freaks you out, you’d better go.” He starts on the button fly of his jeans, and Liam hadn’t realized that he left the stockings and suspenders on when he changed, but he can see it now, the band of lace around Zayn’s skinny hips, the straps pulling against his thighs. Zayn’s wearing girl’s pants, black and silky looking, dipping low around the bulge of his dick. Liam’s eyes catch on the frizz of Zayn’s pubes above the waist of his knickers, drag higher over his tattoo, unreadable in the dim glow from the bedside lamp.

“Don’t think I won’t,” Liam says anyway, heart hammering.

Zayn pulls his top off carefully, smoothing down the wig after, long wavy hair falling over his shoulders. “Don’t think you won’t what, Liam?” Zayn asks. He’s all tightly corded muscle beneath his clothes, no curves to be found, the lacy bra like an afterthought, the cups rounded out by balled-up socks.

Liam still wants him. He takes a step forward and puts a hand on Zayn’s waist, tips his head down for a kiss, brushing his lips over Zayn’s, testing the waters. Zayn leans up into him, his mouth tacky with lipstick, and when his lips part, Liam pulls him in to kiss him more deeply. He runs his hands up Zayn’s sides, fingers sliding over the lacy band of the bra, around the back to unhook it.

“Smooth,” says Zayn, smirking into his mouth.

“I’ve been with people who wear these before,” Liam tells him, pressing his lips to the perfumed skin of Zayn’s throat. Zayn’s grips at Liam’s t-shirt, tugs it upward until Liam pulls it off. He looks at Zayn then, red lips and dark eyes, hair falling into his face. He touches his thumb to Zayn’s lower lip. “It didn’t even smudge.”

“Modern science is amazing,” Zayn says. “You’ll just have try harder.”

Liam is more than willing to accept that challenge. They fall into Zayn’s bed still kissing, Zayn’s stockinged legs bracketing Liam’s hips. Liam’s dick jerks in his trackies, and Zayn’s is poking up over the waistband of his knickers. Liam bends to press his lips to the lipstick mark between Zayn’s collarbones, nuzzles down over his bare chest. The plump head of his dick is leaking messily against his belly, and Liam cups his balls through the silky material, runs his fingers over the heavy weight of them.

The lower he goes, the more the scent of Lou’s perfume is overwhelmed by the smell of Zayn’s skin, sweat and musk and boy. Not something Liam’s used to being turned on by, but he is, pressing his mouth to the shape of Zayn’s dick beneath the straining knickers. Zayn swears and arches towards him as Liam licks at him through damp satin, and Liam just wants more, crazy for a taste of him as he pulls at the waistband with his teeth. The suspenders interfere, make it harder to roll the underwear off Zayn’s hips, and Zayn reaches down to help, freeing his cock for Liam’s mouth.

Liam sucks at the head, startled by the taste, the stretch of it between his lips, but he doesn’t want to stop, taking Zayn in deeper until he gasps and reaches for Liam’s head. Liam sucks the way he likes himself, shallow and tight, wrapping one hand around the base of Zayn’s cock to guide it for his mouth. With every bob of Liam’s head, Zayn grabs for Liam’s short hair, rocks his hips up. Liam rolls Zayn’s balls in his other hand, rubs one finger behind and makes Zayn swear again. The taste in his mouth is getting thicker, more bitter as Zayn’s cock blurts precome. He could make Zayn come like this, with his mouth and his fingers, and it feels powerful, the tremble of Zayn’s skinny thighs around his shoulders, the way he strains towards Liam, hampered by the knickers.

Liam pulls off, nuzzling at Zayn’s balls, making it last. He curls one finger against Zayn’s arsehole, and Zayn’s tries to spread wider for him, straining against the tangle of knickers and suspenders, stockinged feet slipping on the duvet. Liam’s heart is hammering, and he’s so hard himself, grinding his hips into the bed. He wants Zayn to like this, wants to make him come apart. He slides his tongue down, rubbing against Zayn’s arsehole, testing the give of it.

“Oh, fuck,” says Zayn, and Liam presses there, circling over Zayn’s hole, leaving it messy with spit. He pushes his tongue in a bit, spreads Zayn’s cheeks with his thumbs to lick along his crack. “Liam, Christ, where’d you learn to do that?”

Liam looks up and grins, pleased. “Same place I learned about bras. Girls have arseholes too, mate.” Zayn’s wig is askew, and his lipstick is finally smudged, his bare chest heaving as he sucks in a shaky breath. “Should I stop?”

“That is the stupidest fucking question,” Zayn says, and he pushes Liam’s head back down. Liam laps at him, working him open, fingers digging into Zayn’s cheeks. He sucks at the rim of Zayn’s arsehole, digs his tongue into the tight center, eating him out like a girl, leaving him wet and sensitive. “Fuck me,” sighs Zayn, and Liam thinks it’s an idle exclamation until Zayn says it again, working his hips against Liam’s tongue. “There’re condoms in the bathroom. Liam, fuck.”

Liam scrambles off the bed before he can think too hard about it, stumbles into the bathroom and strews the contents of Zayn’s kit bag across the counter before his fingers close around the small square of a condom. When he comes out, Zayn’s got two fingers inside himself, arm bent awkwardly, thighs still trussed by complex ladies’ undergarments. Liam’s never fucked anyone up the arse without real lube before, but Zayn’s beckoning him like he doesn’t care, like nothing matters but getting Liam inside him. He shucks off the rest of his clothes and knees his way back onto the bed. “Will it be all right like this?” he asks, lining his fingers up with Zayn’s, feeling where they enter him, the tight grip of his hole. He realises they’re slick with more than his spit. “Did you just…”

Zayn tilts his head towards a small bottle of lube on the bed beside him. “Got that out earlier. Figured I’d have to do it myself if you didn’t show. No point in dressing like a girl if you can’t get well fucked after.” Liam presses his finger in beside both of Zayn’s, and Zayn bites his lip, teeth digging into the plump redness of it. They’re moving together then, rocking into each other, and Liam’s dick keeps brushing the back of Zayn’s thigh on each press forward, smearing wetly against the stockings.

He rolls the condom on with shaking hands, and Zayn’s legs cross behind his back, locking him into the space between. He hears the pop of a seam as he slides into the heat of Zayn’s arse for the first time, shoving Zayn’s legs higher and wider, trying to improve the angle, get himself enough leverage to thrust. Zayn gasps, working himself back to take Liam deeper, the wig sliding off his head completely. Zayn’s hair is spiky with sweat beneath, and the knickers basically coming apart a little more every time Liam leans into him. He watches the strain of Zayn’s thighs, feels Zayn’s heels digging in at the small of his back as he fucks him. He’s pushing in deep now, making Zayn take all of him before he pulls back, and the rhythm of it is frantic, desperate.

Zayn wraps a hand around his dick, wanking with a quick, steady motion like he knows this can’t last, and Liam grips his hips and pulls him in tighter, fingers curling over the straps of his suspenders. He rocks his way inside and stays this time, holding deep as Zayn goes tight around him and the silky knickers give way entirely, one leg hole tearing open as Zayn drags himself up higher on Liam’s dick and comes, spraying over his belly in long, white streaks. Liam’s almost there too, his balls slapping in the slick crack of Zayn’s arse, but he pulls out before he’s done, ripping off the condom to wank himself over Zayn’s heaving belly.

“Wanna come on my face?” Zayn asks hoarsely, and Liam would’ve been too polite to ask, but he does want that. Zayn closes his eyes as spurts of it slap his pink cheeks, his lipstick-sticky mouth, mingle with the dark smear of makeup across his eyelids. He’s a mess, head to toe, ripped knickers and a run in his stocking and spunk all over his sweaty skin, his wig laid out like roadkill behind his head.

Zayn wipes his eyes and looks up at Liam with a satisfied smile. Liam can’t help grinning back. “Sorry for the objectification,” he says, and Zayn tugs him down into a messy kiss.


End file.
